


Don't

by wehangout



Series: Gallavich Week 2015 [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, alternate ending to 3.12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4144767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wehangout/pseuds/wehangout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t.”</p><p>The word is out of your mouth before you really have time to consider it, but you know it doesn’t matter, won’t matter, simply isn’t enough. It’s a broken word; too much meaning, not enough confession. It’s just not enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Gallavich Week 2015. Day 3 - You're the Boss.
> 
> Many thanks to [Ella](http://hubrisandwax.tumblr.com/)
> 
> My tumblr is [here!](http://wehangout.tumblr.com/)

“Don’t.”

The word is out of your mouth before you really have time to consider it, but you know it doesn’t matter, won’t matter, simply isn’t enough. It’s a broken word; too much meaning, not enough confession. It’s just not enough.

Ian, though … Ian turns to look at you, face scrunched up in a frown, suspicion and scorn the only things you see in his eyes, and you wonder if it’s too late. If maybe it doesn’t matter what you do, what you say, how far you run after him like a little bitch - he’s already made up his mind. He’s going.

You try to say more anyway, try to get something out, something that is _enough,_ but the noise that falls from your lips is barely a word, barely a syllable, not even remotely close to being what Ian wants and needs and deserves to hear. It’s nothing. Followed by your rough breathing as you try your fucking best to keep that lump in your throat from dissolving into the traitorous tears that threaten to fall.

Ian gets that look in his eyes - that knowing look he’s thrown at you in the past, when he knows you want to kiss him, when he knows you want like the small touches, when he knows you don’t hate the B word that slipped from his lips that one time. But this time it’s filled with resignation, finality, and not a hint of surprise.

He turns away with half a smirk on his face and you force the goddamn words out because you don’t want to think about what will happen if you don’t.

“Don’t leave.”

He stops. For a long moment he doesn’t do anything else but stand there with his back to you. Finally, after what feels like ten different eternities, he turns. And he’s surprised. His eyes are wide and shocked, face pale, and you silently plead with whoever might be listening that it’s hope you see hidden behind his carefully poised face.

“I mean - shit, if you need to leave, fine, I get it, but don’t sign up.”

You’re not even sure what you’re saying, not at all sure if this is just about Ian joining the army. It can’t be, though. You’ve known since forever that being a fucking officer was his long-term plan. You didn’t expect it to come around this quickly, but you know _four years minimum_ isn’t the only reason you’ve stopped him.

“Mick.”

It’s the first time he’s said your name since arriving and it hacks into that lump in your throat. You sniff and swallow hard, looking away while you continue.

“If you’re only leaving to get away from me then … just don’t sign up, okay? Join a fucking circus or something. Better yet, stay in town and I’ll leave you alone. I’ll do whatever the fuck you want. Just don’t go runnin’ off to the fucking army and get yourself killed. That’s fucking dumb.”

You pause, wipe a shaking hand over your face. The army isn’t the only reason you’re speaking up, but you’ve thought about this before - had fucking nightmares about what could happen to Ian once he signed up. It’s not the only reason, but it’s still fucking important. Or maybe it’s important that he knows how you feel about it.

You don’t know. You don’t know a lot when it comes to Ian Gallagher. You take another hit of your cigarette.

“Didn’t realise you cared,” he says, but his voice is soft and all the nonchalance from before is gone. In its place is a genuine need to know.

You don’t know how to tell him what he needs to hear, so you lick at your cheek and force more words out.

“You leavin’ because of me?”

“I can’t stay while you’re with her.”

“Then I’ll go with you.” The shaking in your hands has turned into full-body trembles that you think are part fear, part hope. “It ain’t like I wanna stick around here with her, either.”

You flick your gaze to his. You quickly look away and back again. He’s staring at you so fucking intently that all you can do is stare right back and hope like fuck it’s enough - hope you’ve said enough, hope you’ve done enough, hope you’ve acted like enough of a little bitch for him. Hope he sees through your words to what you really mean.

His jaw clenches and he stares at the ground. “You wanna run away together? That what you’re saying?”

You hate that he tries to make it sound like a fucking joke. You hate that he won’t look at you as he asks. You hate that you can’t give him the answer he wants.

“I want to not be here. Whatever I did, the - the wedding and shit, it wasn’t because I wanted to.”

“I know.”

Your forgotten cigarette burns at your fingers and you quickly put it out. You take a deep, shaky breath and stare at him. You should keep going - fuck knows you’ve got plenty going on inside of you that you know he wants to hear - but you’re not sure you can. Not without some kind of affirmation, some kind of assurance that Ian needs to leave you and her, but doesn’t want to leave you.

He looks up at you, and yeah, that’s definitely fucking hope plastered all over his face. He tries to hide it, almost manages with the wariness in his eyes, but you take what you can see and run with it.

You step around the bed and closer to him. “Take me with you.”

“What about your wife?”

“What about her?”

“What about your kid?”

“Who the fuck even knows if it’s mine?”

Ian glances at you, eyes soft. “Where are we gonna go?”

You never noticed the painful clenching around your heart until it eases with Ian’s words. You blink quickly and give him half a smile. “Does it matter?”

“I don’t know. Does it?” He doesn’t move closer, but he does turn his body to face you directly. “I just need to leave. You specifically don’t want to be here.”

_You wanna run away together? That what you’re saying?_

That’s exactly what you’re saying. You don’t know if running will work, or if you and Ian will work, but you want the fucking chance to find out.

You push on, getting to the point, the real point, the point Ian wants to hear. The point you had been trying to say when you first opened your mouth and spoke. You step forward again, and for once looking him right in the eye as you speak isn’t the hardest thing you’ve ever done.

“There’s nothing left for me here if you leave, so you might as well take me with you.”

It’s as close to _I want to be wherever you are_ as you’ll ever get, and he has to know that. He just has to.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. So just … don’t.”

He steps forward. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t _leave me,_ Ian."

 


End file.
